


Act Like One, Too

by wesleysgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4357517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For <span class="ljuser i-ljuser i-ljuser-type-P"></span><a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://wolfling.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://wolfling.livejournal.com/"></a><b>wolfling</b>'s birthday.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Act Like One, Too

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://wolfling.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://wolfling.livejournal.com/)**wolfling** 's birthday.

A voice wakes Dean up.

Of course, because it's Sam's voice, it's fucking annoying, but that probably goes without saying. Dean grabs his pillow and throws it at Sam.

"Hey!" Sam says.

"I'm sleeping," Dean mumbles, inching down the mattress and pulling the blanket up over his face.

"Yeah, I can tell."

Sam's hand runs down Dean's back, over the curve of his ass, and along his thigh toward his calf.

"Come on, Dean," Sam says.

Dean grumbles a protest.

Then Sam yanks the covers out from under the end of the mattress, captures Dean's ankle in one strong, freakishly large hand, and starts to tickle Dean's foot.

Dean shrieks loud enough to wake the dead -- not that he's trying to put that to the test -- and flings himself away from Sam and off the bed, He lands on his ass, yelps, and rolls in time to miss having Sam fall on him. "What the _fuck_!" Dean growls, getting a handful of Sam's t-shirt. He hears the fabric tear and thinks, savagely, _good_ , and then Sam's on top of him.

They wrestle just like they've been doing for years, only this time Dean's actually angry. What the hell is Sammy playing at? Being mad makes him rougher than usual; he bangs Sam's head against the floor a little too hard. Sam's eyes flash, and he gets a knee up. It glances off Dean's inner thigh, just missing his balls, and Dean elbows Sam in the face. He means to pull the blow, because even though he's pissed off he doesn't _really_ want to hurt Sam, but somehow he fucks it up -- or maybe Sam moves forward, he's not sure, it happens so fast -- and ends up contacting _way_ too solidly with Sam's nose.

Sam yells and rolls away from him, coming to a stop on his back with both hands over his face.

"Shit," Dean says, and goes to him. "Sammy? You okay?" He pulls at Sam's hands; Sam lashes out, shoving him, and Dean can see blood on his upper lip. "Jeez, dude."

"Is that the best you can do?" Sam asks.

"You're the one who fucking started it," Dean says, but he grabs one of Sam's hands. "Let me see."

"Why, do you want to gloat?" Sam had been sounding pretty happy until they started wrestling, Dean realizes. He sniffs and coughs on blood. "Just leave me alone."

"Stop being a jerk and let me see," Dean says. He gets up, half dragging Sam with him -- Sam doesn't fight him, though -- and goes into the bathroom, kicking the lid of the toilet seat down. "Sit."

Sam sits, snuffling and holding his head back, which Dean knows from experience will just make more blood run down the back of his throat. "Man, what did I do?" Sam asks.

"Are you totally nuts? You woke me up. I was _sleeping_." It's more than reason enough to be outraged in Dean's opinion. He runs a washcloth under cold water and wrings it out, then steps over to hold it to Sam's face, smacking Sam's hands out of the way. "Let me do it, stupid."

"Fugg you," Sam manages.

"What? Now Sam, is that nice? When all I'm trying to do is help you." Dean fakes offense and wriggles the bridge of Sam's nose a little more roughly than he probably needs to.

"Ow!" Sam pushes him and takes the washcloth, holding it himself, and Dean remembers Sam sounding happy.

"Come on," he says, a little awkwardly. "I don't think it's broken."

"Like you'd care if it was." Sam's sulking now.

"It was an accident, Sam." Dean waits until Sam looks at him, then reaches for the washcloth. Sam lets him take it, lets him hold it to his nose. "Why the hell did you wake me up like that?"

Sam says, "Ids urr birrdday."

"What?" Dean moves the cloth away from Sam's mouth.

"Your _birthday_ ," Sam says.

"It is?" Dean's genuinely surprised and pulls back, but he recovers fast. "Right, my birthday. And what led you to think the perfect present for my 30th birthday would be waking me up from a sound sleep?"

Sniffing, Sam rubs his knuckles under his nose a couple of times, which just smears the blood around. "Well, that wasn't exactly the whole plan."

"Which means it was part of the plan," Dean points out. He folds the cloth until he gets a clean edge and uses it, gently, to wipe the blood off Sam's face. "So tell me."

Sam's looking up at him, all big eyes and, yeah, slightly swelling nose, which Dean has to admit -- if only to himself -- is kind of cute. "The roving hands didn't clue you in?"

Dean thinks back. Oh, yeah. Sam's hand on his ass. "I'm not really getting how that would be different from most mornings."

Sam blushes. There are times when Dean is shocked that there's any part of Sam left that's still innocent enough to blush, considering the things they've seen and done. "I wanted to make sure you had a good day, that's all. You know. Start it out on the right foot."

His foot's not really the body part Dean's thinking about -- or with -- right then. "Yeah, well," he says, tilting his head to one side a little bit and eyeing Sam with interest. "Maybe it's not too late."

Ten minutes later, with his dick between Sam's lips and a handful of Sam's hair in his fist, Dean thinks maybe 30's going to be a pretty good year.

  
  
  



End file.
